


All I Wanted Was Coffee

by orphan_account



Category: The Creatures (Youtube RPF), Video Blogging & YouTube RPF
Genre: Coffeeshop AU, M/M, Theatre AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:37:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1610330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James is an unsuccessful playwright who keeps getting rejected by every agency he goes to, while Aleks is a barista. Therefore, a coffeeshop/theatre au. Hope you enjoy, and please leave feedback if you want me to continue this!</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Wanted Was Coffee

  
It was 2 AM, and James Wilson was lousily dragging himself against the stone-cold pavement, making loud noises in the process. What was he doing in the street in the middle of the night, you ask? _Isn't it obvious?_

After so many rejections, you'd think the man was used to it by now. You would. But he wasn't. Yes, he did pretend to be happy, his eyes shining every time something exciting happened. But really, he was going through hell. He was depressed, jobless, friendless and scared. Scared of facing the consequences of choosing such a terrible profession.

A few minutes later, he finally found his apartment complex, after staring at the many buildings that surrounded him.

In reality, he hated being drunk. But it just seemed like there was nothing else he could do.

After noisily coming out of the elevator, he snooped his pockets for his keys and pulled them out. A lot of tries later, the door was finally unlocked and closed from the inside.

Wilson's apartment wasn't a very enviable scene; all he had was a bathroom and a kitchen that was tied to the bedroom. His most valuable possession was a desk and the computer sitting on top of it, the one which he used to write his scripts. It was about three or four years old and functioned terribly, but James really had no way of getting a newer one due to lack of funds. He threw himself on the small, wooden bed, and was asleep shortly after.

\--

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_**Shit.** _

It was the man's alarm. He had almost forgotten how he had to wake up early that day. Sighing desperately, he pulled himself out of his bed, fully clothed and incredibly hungover. He dragged himself to the kitchen and pressed the button on the coffee machine, the long, continuous sighs not stopping.

Shortly after the coffee was made, he turned on his laptop and positioned himself in the chair in front of the table. "Alright, I can do this," he declared optimistically. "I can fucking _do_ this."

In front of him opened a half-finished document, one that he'd been working on for about a year now. All his editors had rejected his play, refusing to even read the rest of it when James was finished. These words were what brought the playwright into such deep depression.

After staring at the document for quite a long while, he finally decided to shut it down and take go into a nearby Starbucks, a place which always inspired him. The smell of fresh coffee and delicious muffins were bound to make him write at least a dozen pages.

About ten minutes later, James was already on his way, marching quickly to the place which always brightened his mood. Getting inside, he walked towards the nearest barista. It was a young man, aged about twenty, with dark brown hair and eyes. Nothing too special, but there was just _something_ about him. James froze in his place.

_**Holy shit.** _

"Can I get you anything?" the man asked after noticing James didn't have the intention of saying anything, and tried to politely gesture to the whole crowd of customers waiting behind him.

"Uh, what?" James paused, "Uh, yeah, sorry. Can I get a... Latte macchiato and a chocolate chip cookie?" 

This was _weird_. James had never felt anything like this before. He'd never found a guy _hot._ He'd never found _anyone_ hot. He felt his skin burn, something telling him to make a move. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

"Sure," the man replied, a slight smile appearing on the corners of his face, "Your name?"

"James," he replied cheerfully, not taking his eyes off the other. The barista did eventually notice James's staring, adding an "anything else?" before he went to prepare the coffee.

"Your name and number in there, maybe?" James added, not realizing what he'd just said.

**_Fuck._ **

**_What the fuck did he just do?_ **


End file.
